The Good Doctor and The Consulting Detective
by JohnLockSher
Summary: NO MARY! NO BABY! Most likely not going to add in Moriarty b/c i don't think i can make it good. John secretly turns himself in to an old enemy so that he can protect Sherlock. John realises his old enemy will not stop and has become more powerful since his last encounter with him before joining the war; back when he was nothing more than an abused child wanting to help people
1. chapter 1

**I don't own these Characters, only the plot. Characters may be slightly OOC (Out Of Character)**

 **I am only publishing this because my great "friendgirlfriend" talked me into it.**

 **XOXO** _Disappearing Kangaroo_ **XOXO**

 **please feel free to comment but all negative comments will be ignored.**

 **Chapter One:** _Im sorry Sherlock_

"Sherlock stop, please. You have to listen to me, you arrogant git," John exclaimed.

Sherlock stopped and turned around. Sherlock was about to return an insult but he saw the expression on John's face and knew this wasn't petty anger coming out of John. This was a serious situation and Sherlock needed to listen.

John saw that Sherlock was finally going to listen to him and immediatly he felt guilty for what he was about to say.

"Sherlock... this case you got on... umm",

John had a lot of trouble doing this. He really didn't want to hurt Sherlock but he has to do it in order to keep Sherlock safe.

"Yeah the case about the man who was shot in broad daylight but no one saw it happen, what about it?" Sherlock asked, impatiently.

"I... I don't believe you... at all", John stated. He forced himself to say it without hesitation or regret. He held himself like a soldier but felt like a foolish jerk.

 _'This is all my fault"_ John thought to himself as he saw the look that Sherlock gave him; confusion, disbelief, and a twinge of hurt. John wanted to kick himself.

' _Im sorry Sherlock, i am so sorry. But this is for your own safety'_ There was a long, painful silence between them, a silence that was slowly killing John.

"What do you mean, John? what is it that you do not believe?" Sherlock finally asked.

 _'Oh god why does he have to make this harder for me?'_

" Your bloody case, Sherlock! I don't believe how you solved all those cases, i don't believe how you deduced all those random people or all those cases you solved... and i didn't believe _you_ " John finished. His voice,no matter how hard he tried to stop it, cracked on the last sentence. He tried to give Sherlock subtle hints in his word choices that Sherlock would understand but, judging by Sherlock's expression, he didn't make the connection.

"What do you mean? You don't believe my case? you don't believe me?" Sherlock began. Sherlock could tell that something was wrong with John so he decided to play along.

"John, no offense, but you are a dreadful liar"

"No...no Sherlock. i am done with your crap! im done with your insults, im done with your laziness, your poutiness, you leaving me at crime scenes, you playing the violin at 3 in the bloody morning, shooting the wall when you're bored, severed heads in the refrigerator- i mean come on... a head, _really?-_ shouting abuse at the telly... im done with it all"

"So, you're done with all that stuff, but does that mean you are done with me?" Sherlock asks, as if discussing the weather.

"G-Good bye... Sherlock Holmes" John's voice cracks before he could stop it. John turned around to walk away.

"John! I know you're being threatened... thats it, isn't it?" Sherlock asked sounding a bit unsure which is what got John to stop walking but he still refused to turn around.

 _'Come on Sherlock. Put the bloody pieces together and solve this puzzle. Let me walk away and then you realise what is really going on then you can stop these bad guys and we can go home to the flat... please'_

Sherlock spread his arms out to the side and slowly spins in a circle,

"Come on then!" he shouts out to the seemingly empty streets, "Where are you hidden? you have a gun trained on my friend or threatening him with something else and, i must say, you are a fool for doing so"

"Sherlock, stop. No one is threatening me", John spins around. He tries to put some heat behind his words but he fails.

"Then who is it that they are threatening?" Sherlock inquires.

' _Oh bloody hell sherlock. For once just figure this case out in your head instead of making sure the world knows it. They have a gun trained on **YOU**! just play along please'_

Sherlock... just stop... please", his plea came out as a hoarse whisper but Sherlock still heard him.

John forced himself to turn away and left, leaving Sherlock speechless and uncertain for the first time in his life.

 **I want everyone here to know that i have not given up on my story "Harry Potter: Behind Closed Doors" i am going through writers block.**


	2. The Good doctor Is No More

**Characters may be slightly OOC. Does not really follow the show nor the books.**

 **I would dedicate this to my girlfriend... but considering this chapter is like sad and gruesome i don't think i should do that.** **B** **ut i suppose its the thought that counts** ;-)

 ** _Chapter Two:_** _The Good Doctor Is No More_

( _8 months after John walked away from Sherlock)_

"Well i must say, John... you did good. The dear old detective almost figured out our clever plan all those months ago. But, thanks to you, the plan worked. You left him while he was confused and- dare i say it?- heartbroken. Excellent work. You did _really_ well. Did you know, Mr. Holmes went two months without solving a case-or even attempt to solve one? He had gone back to his drug usage and poor old Mrs. Hudson hadn't been able to eat hardly anything. His brother is at a complete loss as what to do. You did a _smashing_ job," the man told the stoic-faced, hollow-eyed soldier, that may have been Doctor John H. Watson at one point, but is now just a shell of the lively man Britain had once come to love, and yet he still managed to hold onto who he used to be before all of this. He was just too tired to show it.

John heard everything his abuser said and felt every bruise that he was given but he refused to respond. He hadn't spoken a word since he left Sherlock.

"Sherlock blamed himself. He couldn't stand the guilt of losing his flatmate... his best friend. The pain was too much for him", John looked up at him and for the first time he had a look of fear.

 _What happened to Sherlock?!_

The man had hoped this would get a reaction, but he wasn't expecting this. It was better than he could have hoped.

"Sherlock and Mycroft had gone looking for you. Sherlock had called in every favor, every man he knew. But he got no where. Everyone thinks you're dead... a very tragic newspaper article indeed. They talked about planning a funeral but Sherlock had refused to pay for it because he wouldn't stop looking for you... or at least your body... But after Sherlock... well... stopped, it was in his will to plan a funeral for you. Mycroft gave you quite an extravagent one. Many people were there. Your father came, we even talked. He laughed at your funeral, said what an ungrateful arse you were. And how you burdened all of these good people by getting yourself killed and making your own friend- correction _best_ friend- end his life out of guilt caused by _You_... your father said he should have gone through with ending your life when you were a child... He punished you for everything you did but you just never learned!... what do you have to say?"

John sits there staring straight ahead.

 _'He's gone. I killed the worlds greatest man. I killed my best friend. I killed the British Governments little brother.'_

A small part of Johns mind was telling him not to believe it, that this man could be lying... but the voice was too small and was quickly drowned out by pain, guilt, and self-loathing.

 _'my father was right. I killed my mother and i killed my best friend.'_

"Where are your manners? Do i need to teach you? Like i did all those years ago, back in the war. You thought you could escape me? thought that by, getting shot and discharged from the war, you could avoid me? Then you go and fall in love with an arrogant detective and forget my promise to get you... your entire squadran died trying to save you... and you did nothing!" the man yelled as he brought down the whip on his back and shoulders, once again making sure that each hit broke skin.

Still, John sat there, no comment. The only sound that came from him was his ragged breathing an the occasional grunt of pain. But this was an everyday beating. Just more scars. More pain that he deserves...

The man finally stopped and laughed.

"Okay fine. Ill leave you alone to deal with your injuries. We'll see eachother again tomorrow"

The man left and John let out a pained breath and pushed himself out of the chair. He felt his head spin and his knees wobbled from starvation. He fell to the ground.

The doctor part of his mind was telling him to stay consious, that it was dangerous to fall asleep with so much blood loss and this bad of a concussion. But he didn't care anymore. He killed his best friend

 _My mother._

 _My squadran._

 _My best friend._

 ** _(Johns nightmare)_**

 _"John! John, help me!"_

 _"Sherlock? Sherlock is that you? Where are you?!"_

 _"John over here! Help"_

 _John turns around to find Sherlock standing there. He appeared unharmed, much to Johns relief, but he was clearly distraught._

 _"Sherlock?", John asks cautiously, " Whats wrong?"_

 _"You left me. You selfish bastard. You were a coward and you left me with no reason... you betrayed me!"_

 _Then Sherlock injects a needle filled with cocaine into his arm but he uses too much. The fear in Sherlocks eyes makes the Good Doctors heart plummet._

 _"Sherlock..."_

 _Sherlocks legs buckle and he falls to his knees, swaying slightly. John runs to Sherlocks side and holds him._

 _"Sherlock! You bloody idiot. what did you do?!"_

 _"I...I was so alone. You left me alone."_

 _Sherlock knew he had taken to much cocaine in his veins... he had done it on purpose._

 _"You git. Please... you were my best friend and i owed you so much"_

The last bit of the good doctor died inside of him. And in its place was darkness. He was done. But he'd be damned if he wasn't going to take a few of these people out with him.


	3. The War In His Mind

**Characters may be OOC (Out Of Character)** **I thank** ** _Disappearing Kangaroo_ for being the one to pressure me into publishing this story**.

 **Love ya, Girl.**

 **Nothing can say "Merry Christmas" like an update on Sherlock!!!**

 **Chapter Three:** _The War In His Mind_

John gasped when he woke up which immediatly made his ribs creak in pain. He was shaking uncontrollably from the nightmare, extreme exhaustion and starvation.

But he didn't really care about his condition anymore, despite what the doctor part of his brain was saying. He just kept replaying the words from the dream:

 _I was so alone... you left me alone._

John Watson was done. He didn't have Sherlock to fight for anymore and he knew Gregory and Mycroft would live without him... then again Sherlock would have too... or at least thats what he had thought.

' _he killed himself out of guilt. He didn't actually miss me.'_

 _'Yes he did! He went looking for you and wouldn't give up even when they wanted to plan a funeral.'_

 _'But that doesn't change the fact that he killed himself out of guilt.'_

 _'That wasn't why he died and you know it! The man is just saying that to break you and your playing right into his hands! He missed you-_

 _'Sociopath, my arse'_

 _' He couldn't imagine going back to the way things were before you came along. You changed him, you helped him out of his drug habits, you taught him how to get along with people. He has said it himself that he would be lost without you.'_

Johns mind got quiet cause even it knew it had said the wrong thing.

 _'He...He'd be lost without me... he said it and I **still** left! oh my god. I killed Sherlock Holmes and I knew what would happen because he told me what would happen if I were gone... 'i'd be lost without my blogger...'_

Its an innocent enough statement. But, then again, Sherlock has very strange ways at announcing how he actually feels and expressing his emotions.

' _And, now, I have gone and killed my best friend._ _So now what is the point in living?'_

He thought about this for a minute...

 _'Mrs. Hudson.'_ His logical mind stated.

 _'She doesn't need me. She'll just have to find another person to rent her flat.'_ John thought, sadly.

 _'If she survives that long. You know what grief and sorrow can do to a person. She lost one of her Baker Street boys... do you think she could lose another?'_

 _'Greg will help her.'_

 _'Ah. He will. But whom will help Greg? Greg will be mourning the loss of a great and brilliant man, he has even said a "Good" one. And he would at least be able to keep up hope that you would be found because... you know they haven't stopped looking, even if the say they have. But if you die... What will that do to dear ol' Greg?'_

 _'He'll move on. He'll heal.'_

 _'Its funny how you can say that about them but you can't say that about yourself'..._

John had no more thoughts on this. And since he had lost the argument completely, he thought his logical mind would leave him alone but that wasn't the case. His mind had more to say on the matter.

 _And what of Harry? What would your sister do? All those times you protected her from your father. He had never even been able to lay a hand on her once. When he would come home, drunk off his arse, you would lock your sister in her room until he was done with you, then you would clean yourself up the best you could and go to her room. You would lock the door and pit a chair in front of it, just to make sure he couldn't get in.And you would sing Harry to sleep and stay there until your dad passed out from the alcohol. You didn't even have a bed! you gave it to Harry! She needed you then and she needs you now. you protected her, And she knows that. You still protect her to this day. You went and beat the living daylights out of her drug dealers when she went into Rehab. And you made sure that no one put it on her record that she had been a drug addict. Then, when she turned to alcohol, you were there for her. You talked her through it. You did it the night before you were brought here for crying out loud! What would she do if you weren't there for her anymore?!_ '

John was silent.

 _Well? What do you have to say for yourself?!_

 _'I-I have no clue.'_

 _'Thats alright, soldiers aren't payed to talk. What are you gonna do?!'_

 _'im going to take down everyone in this bloody building.'_

 _'And your going to survive it!'_ the logical part of his brain added, sounding almost exasperated because it seemed like John hadn't payed attention to its whole rant about Mrs. Hudson, Greg, and Harry needing him alive.

' _Maybe'_ John amended, with a slight smile.

He could almost see his mind rolling its eyes and throwing up its hands ( _what does a brain have that could be considered hands?)._

So, with this new incentive and confidence, he crossed his legs, leaned his head against the wall and planned. He planned for the distraction, the initial attack, the tactic he would need, and, finally, the escape.


	4. How Can You Be Here

**Characters may be slightly OOC(Out Of Character)**

 **Hi! You know I wrote out a Sherlock Fanfic on paper and I started to type it(which is this story) but then by the second chapter i took a totally new turn on it. I like this one a lot better but I want to write it out first so I don't mess up like I did with "Harry Potter: Behind Closed Doors". I really love that story but I didn't plan it out which messed me up. So I might take a while to update the next chapter of this, be patient.**

 **Chapter four:** How Can _You_ Be Here?

"Goooodddd Morning! Isn't this just an exciting day, Johnny ol' boy?" the man half-shouted, half-sang as he walked into Johns cell, knowing John would be sensitive to sound from his major head injury.

When he looked around the room he was a bit shocked to see John sitting against the wall to his left, his eyes open and staring at him with a strange expression, instead of barely consious next to his chair like he usually was. The man did not like it at all, it unsettled him and it took a lot of will power not to squirm under John's gaze.

 _This idiot will get what he deserves today._

"Do you know what today is?" the man asked not expecting a reply.

"Today is the day your entire facility falls apart and today is the day I die" John stated. His voice was raspy, from not using it for almost nine months, but that didn't make his threat any less ominous.

The man stared at him.

"Well... you're half right."

John lifted one eyebrow at him and his face had the shadow of a smirk, not having enough strength to do a full on laugh.

"You _are_ going to die today... but I have decided, instead of just shooting you or cutting off your head, I will kill you slowly and painfully and let you bleed out... it was a unaminous vote among my men."

John didn't react to this at all. This was exactly what John had been hoping for. Because John knew he didn't have enough strength to fight a gun from their hands before he was shot. But maybe- just maybe -he could get a knife from them. His only hope was to take a weapon.

"Alright. So lets get this show on the road...", the man paused and smiled cynically, " im sorry its just... I have waited so long for this and", he paused again and walked the couple of steps to John and knelt next to him, "I just can't believe its finally here", the smile vanished in an instant replaced with a deathly glare and a fiery anger, as he grabbed John's hand and snapped his wrist before John's weakened body could react. John screamed, while the man laughed, manically.

The man grabbed a knife from his pocket and proceeded to stab it into John's leg causing him to cry out weakly. Blood gushed from the wound and he knew that if he didn't act soon, he would pass out from blood loss and pain]. The man, thinking John was to weak to fight back, stood up, leaving the knife in John's leg, and walked around the cell, smiling.

But, John, even though he was blinded by the pain, was able to realise the opportunity and took several deep breaths before grabbing the knife with his good hand, right as the door to the cell opened. John didn't have time to worry about that though, he yanked the knife out of his leg and lunged at the man who had tortured him for months.

"How the hell are you here?" the man shouted towards the door, seconds before he was tackled by John. They wrestled, both fighting for the knife that John was currently trying to lodge in his tormentors throat.

The man kneed John in his stomach and used that as leverage to throw John next to him and climb onto John. Now he had the upper hand, considering John was fighting with a broken wrist. John bucked up his hips trying to unbalance his opponent. The man swayed slightly as John bucked his hips again, forcing the man to place one arm next to John's head to keep himself upright. John, knowing this would be the result, turned his head, braced his arms and bucked his hips one more time with all his strength, causing the man to fall forward. John slammed his head to meet the man and was satisified to see blood gushing from the man's nose as he stumbled back, dizzily. John rolled over and kicked out with his foot, catching the man in the shin. He stumbled to the ground and John began to drag himself towards the knife that had fallen out of his grasp during the struggle.

But before John could grab it, the man kicked it away. John rolled his eyes and brought up his elbow and slammed it, as hard as he could, into the man's head, knocking him out cold.

John tried to stand up but, as he let his legs take his weight, he collapsed. John took several breaths to steady himself and used the chair to help himself into a half-standing half-crouching position. Panting from the exertion, John suddenly remembered that someone had been at the door of his cell.

He looked over towards the door as his vision began to tunnel into darkness, as the pain and bloodloss became to much. He concentrated on the figure in front of him and, for a second, he swore he saw Sherlock. But his foggy mind sadly reminded him that this wasn't possible.

He stumbled for the knife that was a few feet from him. He fell to his hands and knees in front of the knife and grabbed it. He lifted it towards the man at the door but couldn't pull the strength to focus on faces anymore. He was lucky he could still hold up the knife.

"Come... and get me." John muttered, ready to swipe at anything that moved.

"John?" a chocked voice said, in the direction of the man from the cell door "Is that really you?"

John never even had time to be confused before he finally succumbed to the increasing darkness. He dropped the knife as his hands reached out blindly to catch his fall. He was out before he even hit the floor.

 ** _xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_**

"John!... John can you hear me?!"

John groaned as the voice became louder and clearer. He shifted his head to try to get in a less painful position but, he failed miserably.

"Hey he's waking up! Sherlock get over here. You'll probably be the first face that he wants to see," a voice that sounded suspiciously like Lestrade said.

There was a shuffling noise and then a hand covered his own. There was a pause then the man spoke.

"John... its Sherlock. Are you alright? Can you open your eyes for us?"

John took a second to try and force open his eyes which was harder than he expected. When he opened them, he saw a blank wall in front of him so he turned his head to look at the person covering his hand.

"Sh-Sherlock..."

John wasn't sure what to think.

 _Is this real? what in the bloody hell is going on?_

Then it hit him like a rock...

' _I-im dead.'_

That thought alone was enough to kick start John's system. He found himself sitting up, never once taking his eyes off Sherlock. Then when his head stopped spinning he began to stand.

"um... John im not sure you should be trying to stand, just yet..." Sherlock tried to say even as John began to fall.

Sherlock threw his arms out to catch him but, John flinched at the sudden movement in his direction. Sherlock turned his palms out to show that he meant no harm.

"im not going to hurt you John. I want to help you"

Sherlock moved his arms again but, this time, he moved slower and put one of John's arms over his shoulder.

"Alright John. We need to get out of here quickly before more of them arrive. Lestrade can you take up the rear while Mycroft takes up the front?"

"Im on it... It's good to have you back John"

Lestrade went behind John and Sherlock while Mycroft came into view. Mycroft took a mental assessment of John and decided not to overwhelm him with any knowledge of what's going on because it seems like John was still in a daze.

"Brothers of mine", Mycroft nodded towards both the boys: one, his brother in blood, and the other, his brother in bond.

Sherlock's face registered shock and then pride as he acknowledged Mycrofts words. Mycroft gave him a slight inclination of his head to show his respect before moving in front of the others to warn them of any attack.

They moved to the door of the cell and as Sherlock and John approached it, John became more and more aware of everything that was happening. His body was fighting off the shock quickly and replacing it with adrenaline.

"Wait... what did you mean by more people coming here? Why are we in such a rush? Isn't everything supposed to be over now? Or did they all die and now they want revenge since we are here? Is that how this whole works?"

The others looked at John quizically, each of them wondering how bad of a concussion the good doctor had. Sherlock was the first to realise that John was missing a piece of information but, he couldn't figure out what it was.

Mycroft's eyes widened when he finally put the pieces together. He cleared his throat to get their attention.

"John... Where do you think you are?"

"the facility"

"What did that man tell you?"

John's eyes showed pain for a second as he got momentarily sucked back into the memories.

"nothing"

"John, you need to tell us. I think you might be... missing some important information", Sherlock said, as he caught on to what Mycroft was saying.

"He... only told me about one of you... he never said anything about the rest of you and how much pain I put you all through... what I did to you... I didn't know" John looked like he was fighting to keep calm.

"what do you mean? John, we are all right here. Everyone is fine"

"No! No! No! You are clearly NOT fine. You are here meaning you are definitly _not_ fine. Im so sorry I didn't mean to do this to any of you."

 **So, how's that for a chapter? I was actually pretty proud of this, including the chapter I have coming up.**

 ** _Vi, I don't have your number so I need you to text me first. It's the same number._**


	5. Still Not Dead

**Hi! It feels good to be back and publishing again. I really missed this. I hope I didn't lose all my readers. Well let's get this show on the rode!**

 ** _Chapter Five:_** Still Not Dead.

"John... what do you think you did to us?" Lestrade asked, looking like he really didn't want to know the answer.

"I... I- you... gone-"

"John. We are all fine. Now what did you think happened to us?"

John's face, which he had kept stony and blank, was beginning to show the deep pain and anguish he felt. But the emotion that they saw on his face that scared them the most was guilt.

 _What did he have to be guilty about?_

"I-"

"Everyone get down!" Mycroft suddenly shouted, interupting John.

John reacted instantly by throwing himself over Sherlock, covering his friends head and then pulling Lestrade down by his sleeve. Mycroft was already on the ground next to them, covering his head as best he could.

Then gunfire filled the space where they had stood moments ago.

John grabbed Sherlock by the shoulder preparing to get everyone to move.

"Follow Me!" John shouted and began bear crawling his way towards a door in the opposite direction of the gunfire. John lead the way with Sherlock behind him, then Lestrade, and Mycroft bringing up the rear.

When they got through the door, they stood up and ran. Sherlock had to grab one of Johns arms and put it over his shoulder so that John could keep up without putting to much strain on his injured leg.

They approached a turn and they almost continued running if it wasn't for John grabbing them and stopping them. Around the corner there were guards waiting for them.

"How did you know they were there?" Greg mouthed to John. John shrugged and whispered "military strategy"

"What's the plan? This is our only exit", Greg asked to the group.

"I can figure out a strategy but-" Sherlock began.

"I've got a plan", John said. He got up, leaning heavily on the wall.

"How many bullets have we got?" He asked Mycroft, grabbing the gun in Sherlocks holster.

"Two more rounds in that gun. One round in my gun. Two bullets in your own gun."

John looked at them, quizically, but didn't say anything.

He quickly peaked around the corner and pulled back. He looked at his friends and sighed.

"well. Im already dead, what more can they do?"

"Wait, John. What's your plan!?" Sherlock shouted, worriedly.

"What did John just say?" Greg asked, confused.

John had already ran around the corner throwing himself into a roll and, when he landed, he got two shots off which hit dead center. Then he rolled again, until he was right up on the third guy, and John shot him at point blank range in the head.

John was close enough that he could see the light go out in the man's eyes, as he died. John, then, felt confused. This isn't at all what he imagined being dead was like. How can a man's eyes still hold so much life when he was already dead? and then, how can he lose that light when he was killed again? It didn't make sense.

Greg, Mycroft, and Sherlock came around the corner looking warily at John. It wasn't like John to be so reckless. What could these people have done to him to make him this way?

"John?"

John was, currently, facing away from the group and staring straight ahead, at nothing. Upon hearing his name, he looked back at his friends and noticed their worried expressions.

"Im not where I think I am, am I?" John asked, sadly.

"No John. You aren't. Where do you think you are?" Greg asked.

Greg was confused and worried that these evil men had managed to break John, and somehow make him forget everything.

John looked down. He didn't want to say it outloud. Because, to say it out loud, would be admitting that Sherlock, Mycroft and Greg were dead too, and it had all been his fault. But, he was also worried that, if he said it out loud, he would find out the he isn't dead. That they were all alive. He didn't know why, but that scared him too.

"You think you're dead."

It wasn't a question. Sherlock had finally put the pieces together. But, what exactly did these men tell him to make him believe something like that?

Sherlock waited, patiently, for John to acknowledge the statement. But, grew concerned when he just stood there, in exactly the same position: head down, shoulder's stiff, and hands lightly clenched in a fist as his natural pose.

"John?" Sherlock asked, and he started to take slow steps up to John.

When Sherlock was within reach, John looked up, terrified that it wasn't Sherlock. That all of this had been his halucinations as he died back in his cell. But, the relief that he felt when he saw Sherlocks concerned eyes, was enough to break him and take away the last of his energy.

"Catch him." Mycroft told Sherlock.

And, a second later, John collapsed. He silently weeped as Sherlock caught him and held him. John tried to hide the fact that he was crying but, soon the guilt that he had felt for supposedly getting Sherlock killed, the fact that he had thought he was in some sort of afterlife, and the pain that he was in, all caught up to him. All he wanted to do was scream. He didn't know if he liked the fact that he was alive but, he was infinitely glad that Sherlock and the others were.

 **(Two days later)**

"What the hell did they do to him?" Sherlock raged.

Mycroft sighed and leaned back in his office chair, tiredly.

"I will hunt them down, rip them apart. They'll beg for mercy."

"Brother I-"

"No, Mycroft, you don't understand. You can't stop me!"

"Sher-"

"I warned them, a long time ago, not to mess with anyone i know. They didn't listen and now John can't sleep, hardly eats, his PTSD is worse than ever, he'll stare off into space for hours on end"

"Sherl-"

"But, that isn't even the half of it! Have you seen his injuries? The scars on his back? He limps again, not sure if you noticed. You will not stop me, Mycroft. I will not let you. You need to understand-"

"SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock stopped talking and looked at Mycroft, quizically. Mycroft sighed and brushed some invisible dirt from his suit.

"Now, as I was _trying_ to say, I am not going to stop you... I am going to help you. My resources are at your disposal. And I will be checking out some leads of my own."

"Oh... very well then... good, very good" Sherlocks said after a few seconds, sounding confused, "We don't tell John about this... I shall keep in touch... Ta", Sherlock walked to the door and as he was about to leave he looked back and met his brothers eye.

"Thankyou", then, just as fast as he had entered, he was gone, the door closing with a polite click.

Mycroft, for his part, sat there, stunned. He stared at the door that his young brother had just walked out of. Sherlock had started to show more emotion ever, since meeting that army doctor and, at first, he had thought it was a bad thing. But, as time went on, he realised that it was the best thing that could have happened to his little brother.

Over the three years that John and Sherlock had known eachother, Sherlock had attempted to learn a lot from John that he hadn't wanted to know about before; curtesy, manners, taking other people's feelings into account, and(most importantly) when _not_ to make a deduction.

And, although Mycroft would never admit this, he had learned a lot from John as well. He gained a new perspective that he could look through when trying to read people or get an answer. John hadn't even known he had taught that to Mycroft. It was simply observation and listening. But, John did things that Mycroft appreciated even more than that; he broke Sherlock's drug habit, and he protected his little brother in ways that Mycroft could never fully accomplish.

' _But, seeing John practically torn to shreds and so emanciated that you would think he was a skeleton and yet still manage to get up and fight, it made him wonder; who was John H. Watson?'_

And, it was with that thought, that Mycroft logged into his computer and pulled up files that he, honestly, never thought would ever be relevent or important; John H. Watson's file from before he joined the military.


End file.
